


On the run from

by jadztone



Series: Sherlock Nanowrimo [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Canon Divergence, First Kiss, Greg POV, John POV, M/M, POV Multiple, Post-Season/Series 03, john is a dad, sexual identity crisis, sherlock POV, time jump after 1st chapter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-03
Updated: 2017-07-03
Packaged: 2018-11-22 23:29:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11390661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jadztone/pseuds/jadztone
Summary: Greg has a serious talk with newlywed John about what he really feels for Sherlock and whether he's as straight as he thinks he is.  Three years later, Mary has died and John is ready to finally confront these feelings.  But first he has to seek out Sherlock, who is a fugitive avoiding punishment for the murder of Magnussen.





	1. The Talk

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of a series of stories I wrote for Nanowrimo and posted on my tumbler page, sherlock-nanowrimo.tumblr.com. I was doing a story a day, generally leaving them open-ended if I wanted to add on to the story later in the month. The ones that I did add on to will be posted on AO3 as multiple chapters. They will all be posted as complete, with no expectation that I will ever revisit them. I haven't changed them from the way they were posted on tumblr, they have their issues, but I like to think of them as diamonds in the rough. The stories contain multiple crossovers with other fandoms, and multiple ships.

 Lestrade strode up to the door of the townhouse, casting his eye all around as was his usual custom, on and off the job.  Casing the joint, if you will.  It was a tiny little place, in a modest but clean and safe neighborhood.  Perfect for a couple beginning their life together. He’d had a place like that a long time ago.  Once he’d finished assessing the place, he rapped sharply on the door.  As he waited, he glanced at the driveway. There was a car there.  Also a bicycle that was worn, but kept in good condition, secured with a chain on the iron fence that lined the front walkway. Theoretically someone was home. Hopefully it was John, as Greg knew him better and he always felt more comfortable with people he knew.  Also John was more likely to have the answer to his question.  Not that Mary wouldn’t have the answer.  She may not be as close to Sherlock as John was, but there was something about her that made him think that she knew things.  He wasn’t sure how she knew things.  Sherlock knew things because he picked up clues everywhere on a person, could literally read them.  Mary had that ability to a certain extent.  Not as well as Sherlock.  Nobody could do it as well as Sherlock.  But she was certainly better at it than himself.  And John.  It didn’t explain, though, how she knew things.  

Greg felt like he was losing it.  Was he really getting suspicious of Mary of all people?  Sometimes he thought he’d been a cop too long.  Eventually you start to think that everyone’s on the make. He’d even thought it of Sherlock, and look how that had turned out.  His chiefest regret was letting Donovan and Anderson get to him so that his trust in Sherlock slipped as far as it did.  Well, that regret was second to not being there to arrest the Waters family.

The door opened and Mary emerged.  Covering his disappointment, Greg smiled in greeting.  “Hello, Mary!  How’s married life?”

She beamed at him.  “Going well, of course.  So lovely to see you.  You’re wanting to talk to John, of course.  He’s watching a football match.  Come right in and I’ll take you to him.  

Greg thanked her and followed her down the hallway.  She had given every impression of domesticity during their greeting, and yet there was something that teased at the back of his head, something about her that wasn’t what it seemed.  As they reached the den and he saw John, he brushed off his misgivings.  

When John saw him, his expression was initially one of surprise, but it quickly turned to warmth. “Greg!  Come in, come in!  Wonderful to see you!”  He and Greg shook hands firmly.  “Sit down, please.  Would you like a beer?  Are you on the clock?”

Greg sat down.  “Officially I’m not on the clock, so I will take that beer.”  

John glanced up at Mary and she gave a wink and went back down the hall.  He turned back to Greg.  “What do you mean, ‘officially?’”  

Greg sighed.  “Well, I mean that officially I’m not supposed to consult Sherlock anymore about cases.  But this one has me bugged, even in my off hours.”

Mary came back with two beers and handed them to Greg and John.  “I’m heading out to meet Brenda.”  

John tilted his head. “I thought you were meeting Janine?”

Mary shrugged.  “She cancelled.  I think she has a new boyfriend, though she won’t tell me anything about him.  So anyway, I’m seeing the movie with Brenda instead.”

“Okay, well see you later, love.”  Mary leaned down and kissed him, then went back down the hallway.  Shortly they could hear the front door open and close.

John turned back to Greg, who was distracted by the football game.  “That was clearly a hand ball, you bloody idiot!”  He took a swig of beer.

John smiled at him.  “Glad you’re here, mate.  Don’t like to watch the game alone.  I was thinking of going to the pub, but I still don’t know too many people in this neck of the woods.  Having a hard time…fitting in, I guess.”

Greg nodded.  “It’s hard for folks like us to relate to people when they aren’t trying to shoot you.”

John laughed.  “It is a bit quieter here than Baker Street. Takes a bit getting used to.”

Greg raised his eyebrows. “To be honest, I was surprised you didn’t move right back into 221B as soon as Sherlock pulled his Lazarus bit.”

John chuckled slightly. “Well.  Of course I couldn’t.  Mary, you know.”

“Yeah, I know.  I mean, you could have taken her with you. The three of you were like peas in a pod during the wedding planning, so why not all of you living at Baker Street together?  Mrs. Hudson would have loved it.”  Greg mimicked her high timorous voice.  “We get all sorts here.”

John gave him an incredulous look, and Greg burst out laughing.  John shook his head and smiled.  “Taking the piss, eh?  What are you doing here, anyway?”

 Greg gave a resigned sigh.  “Well, I mentioned a case that has me bugged in the off hours.  I was hoping to consult Sherlock, but I can’t find him. Not even Mrs. Hudson knows where he is. She’s heard him in his flat occasionally, but hasn’t laid eyes on him in weeks.  Figured if anyone would know where he is, it’d be you.  I didn’t want to disturb you as you’re settling in after your honeymoon, but I’m kind of desperate.”

There was a brief pause. Greg watched as different emotions flitted across John’s face.  He thought he detected confusion, envy, and finally guilt.  John cleared his throat.  “Um…as it happens…I don’t have any more idea of where Sherlock is than anyone else.”

There was another brief pause.  Greg finally spoke.  “Really? Mrs. Hudson seemed to think you would know for sure.  She said that you’d been adamant before the wedding that nothing would change between you and Sherlock, that the two of you would still go on just as many adventures as you did before.”  Greg knew he was being mean, but he couldn’t help but make that little jab at John. He’d always been a little jealous of their closeness.  He still remembered that case where Sherlock brought John with him for the first time. How quickly Sherlock had taken to John, entrusting him with so much, while Greg remained still that cop whose first name Sherlock never remembered.

John swallowed hard and then smiled insincerely.  “Well, you know how it is.”

Greg felt bad and cut him some slack.  “Of course I know how it is.  Friendships never stay the same after one of you marry.  And Sherlock was always kind of a loner, anyways.”

John shook his head a little.  “Not really. He does a great job of making it seem like he is, but he isn’t really.  He works much better with a partner.”

Greg nodded thoughtfully. “That’s true, I remember that day he took Molly with him everywhere.  Maybe Molly knows where he is.”  He heard a slight intake of breath and saw John’s expression tighten.  “Hey, uh, I, uh…” He cast about for something to change the subject. “Hey, did I tell you that you left some of your personal effects at the drunk tank that night?  You took your wallet, but there was some sort of beaker that the bartender said belonged to one of you.”

John blinked.  “That was Sherlock’s.  He was using it to measure the amount of alcohol we were consuming.” He smiled in remembrance, his face becoming soft.  

Greg pursed his lips. “Yeah, Molly mentioned that.  She helped him with the calculations.  I guess your bachelor’s night didn’t work out as planned.”  He tried not to sound put out.

John gave him a piercing look.  “I told Sherlock that I wanted you to come with us.  I had a list that I gave him.  You were at the top of it.  I don’t know why he didn’t invite anyone.  It was just the two of us.”

Greg felt a little mollified hearing confirmation that John had wanted him there.  It was nice to know the friendship wasn’t one-sided.  It made him loose enough to say the next words. “You don’t know why he wanted it to be just the two of you?  Really?”

John shrugged.  “Well, I mean I know Sherlock is antisocial.  The only names in his address book are mine and Mycroft’s.  But it wasn’t his stag party, it was mine.  I gave him a list.”  John frowned, clearly trying to work it out.  

Greg could tell this was the first time he was really thinking about it.  Not surprising, weddings have a way of sweeping you away with the sheer momentum of it and only afterward do you wonder what the hell was going on.  He piped up, “I think he wanted you to himself because he was going to lose you.  Maybe this was his last ditch effort to win you back.”

John laughed dismissively. “Win me back?  You talk like he’s my ex-girlfriend.”

Greg narrowed his eyes. “Isn’t he?  I mean, it was never just friendship between the two of you.”

John gave him an exasperated look, one that seemed well practiced.  “How many times do I have to tell people?  Sherlock and I weren’t in a relationship.  I’m not gay!”

Greg rolled his eyes. “I know you’re not gay.  Clearly you’re not attracted to men only.  You’re obviously attracted to women as well.”

John blinked a few times. “As well?  As well?  I….I…I’ve only ever been with women, so there’s no ‘as well’”  He laughed awkwardly, obviously very flustered.  Suddenly the penny dropped.

Greg leaned forward, and in a quiet voice asked, “Are you telling me that you and Sherlock really weren’t…together?”

“I’m not gay!” John bellowed.

“Which is not the same thing as being bisexual!” Greg bellowed back.  

“Bi…bisexual?”  John blinked at him.

“Yeah, mate. Bisexual.  Attracted to both men and women.  You’ve heard of it, right?”

John took a breath.  “Of course I’ve heard of it. I’ve never thought anyone would apply it to me.  I’ve only been with women.”

“Well plenty of bi folk have been with only one gender.  Doesn’t mean they couldn’t be with another if the right one came along.  All there needs to be is the attraction.  I…well I guess I thought I saw attraction between you and Sherlock.”

John blinked again a few times.  “And you think Sherlock is bisexual.”

Greg chuckled a little. “I’m not sure what he is.  All I know is he certainly has it bad for you.”

John looked at him sharply. “What makes you say that?”

“Well for starters, despite your apparent wish to have multiple people along on your stag party, he ignored your list and made plans for only the two of you.”

John waved a hand.  “Yeah, well that was just…”

Greg gave a dismissive gesture.  “Let me stop you right there, mate.   I can keep giving you examples and you can keep coming up with plausible reasons why it isn’t what I think it is.  I mean, we’ll never really know what goes on in Sherlock’s head.  He’s Sherlock.  Not even Mycroft knows.  But there’s something you do know, or should know, and I’m curious.  You say that the friendship between the two of you was strictly platonic after all.  But..” Greg leaned forward and looked at John intently.  “Did you ever want it to be more than platonic?”

“Do you mean have I ever wanted to….with Sherlock?”  John looked gobsmacked.

Greg shrugged.  “With any man, really.”

“I’ve only ever been with women.”

Greg sighed.  “But have you ever thought about being with a man?”

John rubbed his hands on his face.  “Okay, now I realize why Sherlock was so uncomfortable when I quizzed him about his virginity.  This is excruciating.”

Greg raised one eyebrow. “You quizzed him about his virginity?”

John sighed.  “Yes, but only because I was so surprised to learn he was a virgin.  I probably shouldn’t have told you that.”

“Oh I know he’s a virgin, no secret there.  That’s why it’s so hard to pin him down on his orientation.”

John couldn’t help a smirk escaping his lips.  “That’s what she said.”

Greg chuckled.  “Seriously, though.  You’ve made it clear that you’ve only ever focused on the fact that you find women attractive.  What about men?  What about Sherlock?”

John looked like a deer frozen in the headlights of a car.  Greg wasn’t sure what John’s answer would be once he got himself together.  But one thing he was sure of, by the fact that he hadn’t yet got himself together - John Watson was attracted to men.  Or one man, anyway.


	2. What a wonderful town

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three years after the Talk.

John stared at the urn, which was displayed on a pedestal at the front of the sanctuary.  The service was almost over.  The minister had droned on and on.  A few people had spoken about Mary, but not many because she hadn’t had many friends. John heard none of it.  He wasn’t interested in anything that anyone had to say because nobody knew her.  Hell, he didn’t even know her.  He’d never even known her real name.  And now he’d never find out.  

He hoped that the service would finish soon.  He wanted to go somewhere private and grieve in peace.   Libby was getting restless.  It was normally her play time and she was all pent up energy. She kept asking for her mum. John’s face crumpled.  A three year old should not have to lose her mum. The man who killed her did so because she had assassinated his son.  He confessed everything, and didn’t care one bit that he took a mother away from her child.

John felt his temple start to throb.  He was three seconds away from getting up and walking out the door. This was the second funeral he’d ever attended where he felt like his heart was being ripped out.  But this time there was no mistaken identity. He’d made damn sure it was her.  

Just as he was about to bolt to his feet, the minister wrapped up.  As the organ music started to play, everyone got to their feet and shuffled into the aisle.  His sister Harry put her hand on his arm.  “I was surprised you didn’t get up and say something about Mary.”

John’s expression was stony.  “I’m tired of sharing my thoughts and feelings with the world.  It’s why I shut down my blog.  I don’t want to talk about Mary.  I don’t want to talk about Libby.  I don’t want to talk about my work.  With anyone.”

“But these aren’t strangers.  This is family, friends.”

“I don’t care.  I’m done with it.  Could you please take Libby to the car, I need to stop by the loo.”  Without waiting for her response, he strode down the aisle.  It was a very big church, with restrooms dotted all over the building.  He headed straight for the one furthest away from the funeral attendees.  As he closed the door behind him, the dam burst.  Tears fell down his face unchecked.  He was so overcome with grief that he felt dizzy.  Now that she was gone, he was all alone.  He’d never done well alone.  He had Libby, but she was a child who needed him to be her parent, she wasn’t a companion.  This was the consequence to being addicted to danger – the people he loved kept leaving him.

The door to the men’s room opened.  Silently cursing the intruder, John attempted to wipe away the tears. Then he saw that it was Mycroft.   John wanted to punch him in the face, blame him for not protecting Mary.  But he knew that it wasn’t Mycroft’s fault.  Mary hadn’t been a target because she was working for Mycroft, it was because of her past.  The mad man would have found and killed her no matter what.  John just felt that with Mycroft’s people everywhere in London keeping tabs on all his employees, there might have been some warning that she was being hunted down like an animal.  “What do you want, Mycroft?  I’m trying to have a moment.”

“I knew you would seek out somewhere remote to grieve.  I counted on it.  Here we won’t be disturbed.  I have something for you.”  Mycroft drew a slip of paper out of the pocket of his suit jacket.  “Memorize what’s on here, and then destroy it.”

John frowned, and took the slip of paper.  On it was an address in New York City.  John looked at Mycroft quizzically.  Mycroft raised one eyebrow.  “Come now, it shouldn’t be that difficult, even for you. ”

John blinked rapidly as it hit him.  “Is this…is this where…?”

Mycroft interrupted him.  “Yes. It is.  I know you, John Watson.  I know you don’t do well alone.  I would never be forgiven if I didn’t provide the means to remedy that.  Now destroy that paper.”

John memorized the address and then went over to the sink and ran water over the paper.  When it had soaked thoroughly, and the ink was running, he tore it into shreds and then squeezed the remains into a ball which he then chucked into the toilet and flushed it.  Mycroft nodded.  “My suggestion to you is that you tell everyone that it was always Mary’s wish to have her remains scattered off the Brooklyn Bridge or wherever you think sounds plausible.”

“Good idea, good idea.”  John’s breath hitched, as he started to feel a glimmer of excitement over what was to come.

“And I wouldn’t suggest that you take Libby with you.  You may be followed.  There may be danger.”

As John boarded the airplane to New York, he found himself already missing Libby.  He knew she would be fine with Harry and her wife.  Harry had been sober for two years and they both adored Libby.  He was excited about going to see Sherlock.  Really excited.  John hadn’t seen him in three years.  He left right before Libby’s birth.  He was very upset that he wouldn’t get to see her, he had been as obsessive over nursery preparations as he had been the wedding preparations.  It wasn’t from boredom, he’d also been fully immersed in solving the issue of Moriarty’s supposed return from the dead.

When he solved that case, which came very close to causing mass casualties in London, everyone hoped that the British government would be grateful enough that they would conveniently forget that he’d murdered a newspaper magnate. And it seemed that they had decided to look the other way.  Unfortunately the U.S. Ambassador decided to retire, and his replacement happened to be a very good friend of Magnusson’s.  He was insistent that Magnusson’s killer be brought to justice.  Mycroft was involved in some intense negotiations and the ambassador eventually agreed to let Sherlock be assigned a case similar to the one that almost took him away just a couple months before.  One that would benefit U.S.-British interests and also likely to be fatal to Sherlock.  Sherlock would be punished for his crime, and they wouldn’t have to send any of their agents on a suicide mission.

Once again John and Mary found themselves saying goodbye to Sherlock next to a jet. Sherlock was very put out that Mary couldn’t have had the decency to go into labor so he could see his godchild at least once.  He’d sent her reading material for inducing contractions, hadn’t she read it?  This time when he got on the plane and it flew away, it didn’t turn around and come back.

A year passed and John knew that the assignment must have been completed by now. He went to see Mycroft at the Diogenese Club.  Mycroft simply stared at him in silence.  John knew he should have went to his office instead.  As he was leaving, the butler approached and presented him a note on a silver tray.  The note said, “He’s done his duty, and now he is in the wind (not the ground).” John was greatly relieved.  But he realized that even though Sherlock survived his mission, he couldn’t come back.  The ambassador had been clear that he expected the assignment to result in Sherlock’s death.  And if it didn’t, he expected Sherlock to be brought back in shackles.  Mycroft told John eventually that the ambassador had been furious that Sherlock had slipped away from them, and was always sending CIA operatives on missions to find him.

John hoped like hell that he wasn’t being followed by the CIA.  At the wake he’d made a big show of carrying around Mary’s ashes, which resulted in numerous people asking him what his plans were for them. He told everyone that he was going to release the ashes on Liberty Island, that Mary had always felt an affinity for that “brassy lady.”  The last part was actually true, so it was very fitting place for her ashes.  He just hoped it was plausible enough that the CIA wouldn’t waste their time tailing him.  

John felt his excitement increase more and more as his plane landed and he took a taxi to Manhattan.  He checked into his hotel, and put his luggage away.  Then he went back down to the street and, carrying a map of the city, began wandering around.  He took lots of pictures of tourist attractions.  Bit by bit he made his way closer and closer to the address. Sherlock lived right near New York University.  John wasn’t surprised, he was probably a frequent visitor to their laboratories.

As he walked and took pictures, John felt more and more apprehensive about what he would do when he saw Sherlock.  His feelings about his friend had been muddled ever since a conversation he had with Lestrade shortly after he’d gotten married.  Lestrade told him that he always thought there was more going on with John and Sherlock than they let on.  John insisted that he wasn’t gay, but Greg pointed out that it didn’t mean he wasn’t bisexual.  He’d never thought about it because he’d always had a very keen interest in girls. Any notice he’d taken of a man’s body he’d chalked up to admiration or envy or whatever.  A few times in the military there were clues, but he’d chalked that up to being in the military.  After his talk with Greg, he thought long and hard about Sherlock, how he felt about him, how he’d reacted to Sherlock’s behavior with Irene, and then later with Janine.  

When he moved back in with Sherlock after Mary had shot him, things got really interesting.  John was determined to find out once and for all what was Sherlock’s orientation.  He kept trying to find out clues, ask subtle questions.  In the meantime, being back in close quarters with Sherlock after having unlocked this pandora’s box into his own sexuality proved to be frustrating.  Every interaction with Sherlock was fraught.  John eventually decided to reconcile with Mary. He did love her, she was having his child, and he knew that Sherlock would not be remotely interested in a relationship that evolved out of breaking up his marriage.  

John’s heart was pounding as he approached the building where Sherlock lived. He hoped like hell that he’d managed to shake off or maybe bore to death anyone who might be following him.  To his great luck, as he neared, someone came out the door to the building.  John slipped in before the door closed.  He went up two flights of stairs, found the door to the flat, and taking a deep breath, he knocked.  A voice from within said, “The door’s open, John.  Come on in.”

John exhaled loudly.  “Son of a bitch.  How does he always know?”  Unable to suppress a big grin, he opened the door.  “You knew it was me.”

There was Sherlock, lounging on a sofa, his violin in his hands, his fingers softly plucking.  “Mycroft warned me you’d be coming.  I know your footsteps like the back of my hand.  It’s the most elementary mystery I’ve ever solved.”  Sherlock turned towards him and smiled broadly.  “Welcome, John!”  He swung his legs to the ground, and laid the violin back in its case.   He stood up and went to John, clasped his hands around John’s arms and stared down at him.  “It’s so good to see you.  I do hope that unlike our last reunion, this one doesn’t end up with you trying to choke me.”  

“Not unless you want me to.” John blushed as he realized the implications of what he said.

Sherlock’s eyebrows shot up.  “Seems more like The Woman’s territory.”  He let go of John’s arms and enfolded him in a hug.  “I’m so sorry about Mary,” he murmured in John’s ear.   John hugged him back, holding him tightly.  Given that Sherlock was usually uncomfortable with hugs, the fact that he initiated one was extraordinary.  Tears welled in John’s eyes.  It felt so good to be holding him.  So good.

John let go and stood back, wiping away his tears with his thumb.  “I’m so glad to be here, Sherlock.  I haven’t been able to cope after Mary’s death.”

Sherlock nodded.  “I know. You don’t do well with being alone. I find that I don’t either.  But I do what I have to.”

“How?”  

Sherlock went and sat down, indicating that John should take a seat as well.  “It helped that I could still feel connected to you through your blog.  I was pretty unhappy when you completely deleted it.”

John gave him a startled look.  “Oh my god.  Sherlock, I never thought how you might feel about it.  I was too upset to think straight.”

Sherlock nodded.  “I know. Mycroft told me someone was threatening Libby.”

John rubbed his face.  “In hindsight I realized I could have just deleted the entries having to do with my family.  But it was too late.”

“How is Libby?”

John smiled.  “She’s wonderful.”  He took out his mobile and opened an album filled with pictures of Libby.  He gave it to Sherlock.  

Sherlock scrolled through the pictures.  His expression was bittersweet.  “She’s a ray of sunshine.  She practically radiates light.”

“And like the sun, she’s bursting with energy.  I’ve lost those pounds I put on, just chasing her around.”  Sherlock chuckled and handed back the mobile.

John fiddled with his phone.  “So what have you been up to?  Have you found a way to exercise the science of deduction here in New York?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact, Greg put me in touch with an old colleague of his who works in the FBI.”

John looked at him sharply.  “Okay, first of all, Greg knows you’re in New York?”

“Well, he doesn’t know specifically, it’s a big city.  Besides, he’s hardly likely to try to sneak off to visit me.”

“Fair enough.  Second of all, why would you let the FBI know where you are when half the CIA is out looking for you?”

Sherlock smirked.  “The FBI and the CIA are not known for their cooperative spirit.  As long as Sawyer finds me useful, he has no reason to give the CIA ‘jack shit’ as he calls it.”

“Sawyer?”

“Desmond Sawyer, he’s Greg’s friend.”  John nodded.  

They sat for a minute or two, then Sherlock gave him a piercing look.  “There’s something that I’ve wanted to ask you about, but I suspected that the answer would complicate our relationships.  You and me and Mary.  But now that Mary is gone…”  He paused and looked down.  “John, what the hell was going on with you that time you moved back into 221B after your falling out with Mary?  You were different, and it wasn’t about trying to deal with your wife being an assassin.  Your behavior towards me changed.  I didn’t have my John back.  I had this strange creature that asked me odd questions and was as jumpy as a cat on a hot tin roof.”

John exhaled.  So much for his hope that he’d been subtle and kept himself to himself.  He should have known that Sherlock would see through even the slightest change of behavior.  “Ah.  Well.  Um..you see. It all started with Greg.”

Sherlock gave him a confused look.  But then he suddenly looked towards the door. “Oh great, it’s Sawyer. I knew he was coming to give me a case file, didn’t think it would be this soon.”  That was when John heard the footsteps approaching.  There was a knock on the door.  Sherlock shouted, “Come in, Sawyer.”

A man strolled in.  He was very handsome, sharply dressed, radiating the quintessential New York confidence.  “You used to call me Des…”  He trailed off when he saw John.  He gave John an assessing look.  

John stood up and held out his hand.  “Hello, I’m John Watson.”  

Sawyer narrowed his eyes and then took John’s hand.  “Agent Sawyer.  If you don’t mind, I’m here on business.”  He looked over at Sherlock.  “Well, now I know why you won’t give me a chance.  But really, this is what you like?”  He flicked a look of distaste at John.

John glared at him.  “Oi!”

Sherlock sighed.  “You just said you’re here on business, so get down to it.”  Sawyer gave him a stubborn look, but then slapped the case file into Sherlock’s hands.  Sherlock grasped it and said, “Good, I will review it later and let you know what I conclude.  You may go now.”

“You know, Sherlock, I don’t know what this guy did to you.  But if he’s responsible for why you showed up in New York looking like hell, I can say without a doubt that he doesn’t deserve you.”

John stepped in between them.  “OI! Sherlock said you can go, so I suggest you do as he says.”  John gave him his most steely look.  When Sawyer didn’t move, John’s stabbed a finger at him and then at the door, shouting, “You!  Go now!” His expression was now ominous.  

Sawyer raised one eyebrow, assessing John once more.  “I think I see it now.  Military, isn’t he?  Fine, I’ll leave.”  He started to walk towards the door, but then turned back and stage whispered to John. “I do have one advantage over you. I’ve had him, and you haven’t.” He glanced over at Sherlock and gave him an appreciative onceover.  Then he was out the door.  

John stared at the door and then over at Sherlock.  “Does he mean…what I think he means?”

Sherlock went and stared out the window.  “I don’t have a landlady here.  Instead I have what’s called a super.  He told me one time when a woman who lives in the building passed by us, ‘She’s a fine looking woman, but never, ever shit where you eat.’  Not an eloquent turn of phrase, but I’ve learned that it’s true.”

John went over to his chair and sat back down, heavily.  “You slept with him.  Was he your first?”

“And my last.  I committed adultery, John.  I’ve often said I’m married to my work.  And now I have to deal with this drama every time I want to do that work.”

John didn’t want to think about Sherlock and Sawyer together, intimately. But it did solve one mystery.  “So, you’re gay.”

“Yes.  Now that you know, will you finally quit pestering me with your not-so-subtle questions?”

John drummed his fingers on his chair.  “If you knew what I was trying to find out, why didn’t you just tell me?”

“Because you never directly asked.”

“I thought you would be embarrassed.”

Sherlock turned from the window and gave him a piercing look.  “No, you were worried I would be suspicious of why you suddenly wanted to know after we’d been friends for years.  Also, you didn’t directly ask because you didn’t really want to know.  It would complicate things in a way that you weren’t ready for.  Plus, there was Mary.  You went back to her, and rightfully so.”

John stood up and walked closer to Sherlock.  “Mary’s gone,” he said, his voice breaking.  “And while I would never think of her as an obstacle in my relationship with you,” He took a deep breath, “the fact remains that she is no longer between us.”

Sherlock took a step closer to John.  “I can see in your eyes that you want something from me that you never wanted before I faked my death.  What changed?”

“I was about to tell you before Sawyer showed up.  About me and Greg.”

Sherlock frowned.  “You slept with Greg?”

“What? No!”

Sherlock shrugged.  “Well, he is bisexual.”

“He is?  Huh. Maybe that’s why he was asking if I was.”

“Oh, I see.  That’s what changed.  You’d never thought about it before and talking about it with Greg sort of opened things up.”  John nodded. “Did he ask about it because he was making a pass at you?”

John shook his head.  “No. He knew there was something between us and commented on it.”  He laughed. “Everybody knew.  Mrs. Hudson.  Irene Adler.  The whole world copped to there being something between us, and I had no clue.” He looked at Sherlock’s impassive face and was suddenly unsure.  “There is something between us, right?”  

Sherlock took the last step, bridging the remaining gap between them. “John…”  He stopped, his eyes widening and he looked towards the door and stared silently for a moment.  “Fucking Sawyer.  I should have known.  It’s the CIA, John.  They’re here.”  He held out his hand.  “Come with me.  There’s another way out.”

John felt the whole world swirling around him as he took Sherlock’s hand and ran with him out the back.  At least they weren’t handcuffed this time.  Maybe later.


	3. Fugitives

As he sat in a crudely fashioned tent in a dark alley, Sherlock mused to himself that one of the more annoying aspects to this whole situation was that he’d spent so much time building up a new homeless network here in New York, and now it will have been for naught. There was no way he could stay here. He’d have to relocate yet again. All because he’d killed a disgusting lowlife who happened to be friends with another disgusting lowlife.  It probably didn’t help that he’d already pissed off the CIA, so they were more than happy to go along with the U.S. ambassador’s wishes.  

He looked over at John.  Despite being forced to upend his life, leave London, and start anew, he hadn’t regretted killing Magnussen.  He’d kept his promise to John, and the result had been that John and Mary spent a few blissful years with their child.  Except now he felt regret because John’s life has been upended as well.  He’d come to New York and went directly to see a man wanted for murder.  That would be aiding and abetting a fugitive.  If John tried to go back to London, they would detain him and use him to flush out Sherlock.  There was only one thing to do.

“What if I just turn myself in, John?  Face my punishment.  Mycroft would make sure you didn’t face any charges for your part in coming to see me, especially if we both cooperate.”

John shook his head vigorously.  “No, absolutely not.  I forbid you.”

Sherlock looked over at him.  “Forbid me? Nobody forbids me to do anything. Mycroft has tried it plenty of times.”

John rubbed his face.  “Sherlock, please.  Please don’t do such a thing.  I’m begging you.”

“It’s the logical thing to do.  If I keep running, you will have to run with me, we’ll both be fugitives.  If I turn myself in, then at least you’ll be free. You have a child, John.  She must be your priority.  Stop letting sentiment cloud your judgment.”

John’s face erupted in fury.  “I will bloody well be as sentimental as I want!  You may be an automaton, but I am not.  I don’t care how logical it is, I can’t face a future in which you are punished for something you did on my behalf.”  He took several breaths, then looked over at Sherlock.  “And to be quite honest, I can’t face a future without you in it.”

Sherlock returned his gaze.  “John, I am no automaton.  Just because I prioritize logic and rational behavior doesn’t mean I don’t have feelings.”

John closed his eyes.  “I’m sorry. You’re right, I’m sorry.”  He opened them again.  “What are your feelings, Sherlock?  We never did get to discuss them.  We were interrupted.”

Sherlock looked away.  “My feeling is that this is not the right time for this discussion.  We need to arrange for someplace where we can spend the night and plan our long-term strategy.  I’ve informed Mycroft of the latest development, and he is sending people to pick up Libby and put her in protective custody.”

John’s eyes widened.  “What? You can’t do that!  She’s just starting preschool.  Her life’s already been upturned by her mother’s death.”

“She needs to be hidden away from anyone doing surveillance.  It will be easier to transport her once it’s known where we’ll end up.  John, if we’re going to become fugitives, her life’s going to be more than a little upturned. I think preschool will have to go on the backburner for right now.  She’ll have to say goodbye to all her little friends and her Aunt Harry and everyone else she’s ever known.”

John looked floored.  “But….but…” He was at a loss for words.

Sherlock gave him a triumphant look.  “See, your fatherly instincts are kicking in.  It’s making you realize that you can’t possibly subject yourself and your child to such a life.  If I turn myself in, you can go back to London, the two of you can carry on with your lives.”

“No!  I said no! You speak of us carrying on with our lives. I will have no life without you in it.”

“You will be a father!”

“I want to be more than a father.  If it is at all possible to be with you, I will fight for it.”

Sherlock took a deep breath.  He didn’t want to have to pull this card, but John was leaving him no choice.  “I don’t want you to fight for us, John.  There is no us.  Our friendship has always been close, but that was all there was between us. You’ve allowed your grief over the loss of your wife and your loneliness to imagine something that doesn’t exist.”

John’s face hardened into a mask.  “Take it back.  I know this isn’t one-sided, I know you have feelings for me too.  Take it back.”

“How do you know what I feel?  I have never said or done anything to indicate I care more for you than a friend.”

John shook his head.  “You didn’t have to say anything.  I’ve thought a lot about it over the years.  The signs were there.  In everything you’ve said and done.”

Sherlock shook his head.  “You’re trying to fit things to your narrative.  Typical human error, unable to see things for what they are.”

John stood up.  “You’re just doing this to try and get me to agree to your absurd plan.  It’s not going to happen.  Take it back.”   Sherlock gazed at him, unmoving.  “Fine, I guess I’ll go for a walk.”  He swept aside the tarp that served as the wall to the tent, and strode outside.

Sherlock jumped up and ran after him.  “John,” he said in a low voice, “we have to remain hidden.  You can’t be seen.  Please John, don’t be stupid.”

John turned to him.  “Take it back.  Take it back or I’ll decide to take a stroll to the nearest precinct.”

“You can’t do that, it will mess up the plan!  Mycroft needs time to get everything put into place before I turn myself in.  If we’re caught now, they may not be lenient about letting you go.”

John leaned against the wall of a building.  “Well, then I guess you better take back what you said.”

“Damnit, John!”

“I’m waiting to hear the truth.  The truth about how you really feel about me.”  He looked off in the distance.  “Oh, is that a police cruiser coming in this direction?”

Sherlock thought he was just saying that to scare him, but when he glanced over, he saw that it was indeed a police cruiser, slowly making its way down the street.  Sherlock strode over to John and, using his body to shield him from the headlights of the cruiser, he lowered his head and kissed John.  It was not the circumstance under which he would have liked his first kiss with John to happen, but despite the fear coursing through him, he managed to enjoy it nonetheless.  

After the cruiser passed, he broke the kiss and made to step back, but John wasn’t having any of it.  He grabbed the lapels of Sherlock’s coat and pulled him back in for another one.  When they came up for air, John said in an unsteady voice, “If you try to tell me that was just a show for the police, I will punch you in the nose.”

Sherlock laughed shakily.  “I promise I will tell you everything if you just get back in the tent.”

John nodded and went back down the alley to the tent and stepped inside. Sherlock followed him in and pulled the tarp closed.  They both sat down.  Sherlock glanced over at John, who gave him an expectant look.  “Are we really going to do this here?  In this hovel?”

John shrugged.  “Needs must.”

Sherlock exhaled.  “Fine. I was lying earlier. To get you to go along with my plan.  I’m…in love with you, John.  It’s been building since I met you.  First I was attracted to you, which I ignored because sex is a distraction.  Plus it was obvious that the part of you that could feel attraction for men had not been…woken up so to speak.  Then I developed feelings for you, which I also ignored because as I told Irene - sentiment is a chemical defect.  Faking my death was almost a relief.  I was able to go back to the way things had been. Remove the grit from the sensitive instrument.  Repair the crack in the lens. “

John smirked.  “Oh, how lovely to be compared to grit.  Very romantic.”

Sherlock glared at him.  “This is how I am, John.  You know that.  I am not one for flowery words, except to manipulate people.”

John held up his hand.  “Yes, yes, I know.  Sorry. Please go on.”

Sherlock took a deep breath.  “When I came back, it was a blow to realize that there was more to your relationship with Mary than there had been with previous girlfriends.  But I eventually came to see it as fortuitous.  I could still have you in my life, but at the same time keep you at arm’s length.  Mary’s presence kept me accountable.  There would be no temptation to take things further if you were committed to someone else. I could keep my mind razor sharp. It was perfect, really.  The only major hitch came when, well, you know…”

John raised his eyebrows.  “When Mary shot you and her past was discovered?”

Sherlock chuckled.  “No actually, I took that in stride.  It was yet one more adventure, one more case to solve.  No, the hitch was when you moved back in with me and began acting so strangely.  The tension between us, it threatened to destroy the self-control I’d been carefully building up.  A few times I wanted to confront you about your behavior, to have it out, but I was afraid of the outcome.  Fortunately you decided to go back to Mary.  Then Appledore happened.  And the rest is history.”

There was a long pause while John took this in.  He cleared his throat.  “What about Sawyer?”

Sherlock frowned.  “What about him?”

“Sherlock, you spent most of your adult life pushing aside your sexual urges so that you could focus on your work.  It was practically common knowledge that you were a virgin.  You just admitted to me that the only person to put a crack in your lens was me.  Not even that time I moved back in with you, when I was finally sexually aware of you - even then you didn’t give in to your urges.  So, what was it about Sawyer,” he said the name with distaste, “that finally made you want to take that step?  That very big step.  What was it about him?  His good looks?  He seemed pretty self-confident.  Probably very charming.  I imagine he’s clever, to be with the FBI.”  

Sherlock gazed at John, who wasn’t even bothering to hide his jealousy.  “He’s not that clever.  If he were, he’d never have given in to his narcissism and called the CIA.  Now he no longer has me to solve all his cases for him.  He was up for promotion because of me, and now that won’t happen. What an idiot.  There was nothing special about him, John.  He was just there.”

“What do you mean he was just there?”

Sherlock sighed.  “That night you deleted your blog.  I often went to your blog to see if there were any updates, or read old entries. It was the only thing that alleviated my loneliness.  It was a single thread holding our relationship together, and when your blog was gone, it snapped.  I was devastated.  I’d never felt anything like the grief I felt that night.  I’d lost you forever.  I tried to distract myself, I texted Sawyer to see if he had a case for me.  He said he did and wanted to meet to discuss it at a bar. I knew what he was up to.  Ever since we met, Sawyer was always flirting with me.  Trying to get me to go out with him.  It frustrated him that I never responded.  He couldn’t understand why I would rebuff him, because he was such a catch.” Sherlock rolled his eyes.  “So, clearly this was another attempt at a date.  I decided to go along with it, have a drink or five.”  Sherlock shrugged.  “It’s the typical story when there’s a lot of drinking, a broken heart, and someone there to flatter you.  I regretted it pretty much immediately.  It was all the confirmation I needed that sex was a waste of time and energy.”

John rubbed his face, his expression aggrieved.  “So it was my fault you slept with that arrogant bastard.”

“John, no.  You were simply living your life.  I was the one who fell in love with you, against every principle that I’ve ever upheld.”

John looked like he was about to say something else, but Sherlock got a text alert and checked his mobile.  “This is what I’ve been waiting for.  We need to steal a car.”

John’s eyes shot up.  “Steal a car? Where are we going?”

“Boston.  I’ve just gotten confirmation that we have a place to stay while we sort this out.”

“Do you trust this person?”

“Without question.  I’ll tell you on the way.”

It didn’t take them long to break into a car and get it started, it was one of the many skills Sherlock kept up-to-date.  When they had gotten on the road heading towards Boston, Sherlock explained who they were going to see.

“Irene Adler?!?  She’s alive?!?”

Sherlock glanced at him.  “You sound surprised.  You were the one who told me she was in a witness protection scheme.”  He was unable to suppress a smile.

John pointed at him.  “You knew I was lying!  You knew that Mycroft thought she was dead!  Oh God, he was so sure.  He said they were thorough.  He said…”  John paused, and then started to laugh.  

Sherlock glanced over at him.  “He said what?”

John took a deep breath to squelch the giggles.  “He said it would take Sherlock Holmes to fool him.  You son of a bitch, you helped her fake her death, didn’t you?”

Sherlock laughed.  “Of course. It was the least I could do, it was one of my favorite cases I’ve ever worked on.  I helped her set up a new identity in Boston.  She’s been there ever since, causing as much trouble as she possibly can while still remaining incognito.”

A few hours later they were in Boston.  They ditched the car on the outskirts of the city and took the transit system the rest of the way.  Eventually they were knocking on Irene’s door.  She opened it, her expression delighted.  “Sherlock!”  She pulled him into a hug.  “It’s been ages.  I should punish you for not coming to see me the whole time you’ve been in New York.”

She pulled away and nodded to John.  “Lovely to see you, Doctor Watson.  Both of you, come sit down.”

She led them to the living room where she had a tea tray set up.  They all sat down.  “I’ve sent my girlfriend to the spa for the day. I didn’t want her asking questions when you arrived.  My idea is that when she comes back from the spa, I’ll surprise her with a last minute trip to Maine.  We have a romantic little cottage there.  Then you’ll have the flat here to yourself while you make your plans.”

John nodded.  “It’s very nice of you to give up your flat for the weekend.  But why don’t you just send us to the cottage?”

Irene smirked.  “Are you saying you want dibs on the romantic cottage?”

John flushed.  “I..um, I just thought it would be less of a hassle for you.  I don’t care that it’s romantic.  I mean, we’re fugitives, not really the time for romance.”

Irene’s smile widened.  “Oh my, my, my.  A few years ago, your response would have been, ‘I’m not gay!’  Clearly something has changed.”  She narrowed her eyes, perusing the both of them.  Her gaze settled on Sherlock. “Hmm, I know one thing that’s changed.  I can no longer call you The Virgin.”  Her gaze shifted to John.  “But, you weren’t the one who…”

John shot up out of his chair.  “Okay, that’s enough.  I really appreciate what you’re doing for us, Irene, but I don’t want to be having this conversation.  I didn’t particularly enjoy the last one we had.  Although in hindsight I guess you were right.  I was jealous of you.  You could flirt with Sherlock, and I couldn’t.  Because I didn’t realize then…  Well, anyway, I just don’t want to talk about it. “

Irene looked from John to Sherlock. “The romantic cottage it is.  I’ll get you the keys and the address and arrange for a rental car.”

Hours later they were finally at the cottage.  John had fallen asleep in the car, his jet lag finally catching up to him.  Sherlock walked him, half-asleep, into the cottage and put him in the bed.  He found a bottle of scotch and poured some in a glass. Then he sat down in a chair opposite the bed to watch John sleep, and called Mycroft to discuss their plans.  

The next morning, Sherlock woke to see that John was sitting in the chair he’d been in last night, a cup of coffee in his hands.  His expression was apprehensive.  “Morning, John.”  He stretched and then sat up.  “You look worried, what’s wrong?”

John looked down at his coffee, tapping his finger on the side.  “I was asleep for hours.  I had a dream that you went and turned yourself in while I slept. When I woke up and saw you there next to me, I was relieved.  But then I realized that doesn’t mean you’ve given up on that plan.  You could have called the CIA. They could be on their way here, now.  What did you do, Sherlock?”  His voice cracked, his fear etched into his face.  

“Come here, John.”

“Sherlock, just tell me.”

“I will, if you come here.”

John hesitated, cleared his throat, then finally stood up and came over to the bed.  He put the coffee cup down on the side table, and sat down.  He didn’t lay back on the bed, just sat upright with his back to Sherlock.  Sherlock leaned forward and reached out his hand, taking John’s in his.  John laced his fingers with Sherlock’s and held tight. “I’m not going to turn myself in.”

John slumped forward in relief, then turned to face Sherlock.  “Really?”

Sherlock nodded.  “Mycroft is making plans as we speak to set us up in a new city with new identities, and will send Libby to us when it’s safe.  We’re thinking Montreal.  This is illogical, John.  Dangerous. Utterly irresponsible.  If we’re ever discovered, we will both go to jail and Libby will have lost her father as well as her mother.”

Tears sprang to John’s eyes.  “I know, I know.  I’m a shit father.   Completely selfish.  But if..if it doesn’t work, Harriet and her wife will take good care of her.  And they’ll raise her to know the truth and hopefully she will respect me for it.  But that’s not going to happen because we won’t be caught.  This will work, Sherlock.  We’re due for some happiness, don’t you think?”  

“Happiness?  What’s that like?”

John leaned forward until his lips were almost touching Sherlock’s and whispered. “Let me show you.”


End file.
